


With The Grain, Against The Grain

by seki



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 17:23:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20139190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seki/pseuds/seki
Summary: Maintaining a clean shave is very important to Ignis.





	With The Grain, Against The Grain

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Aeternum (an Ignoct-focused zine - @ignoctzine on twitter).

It's abysmal trying to stay groomed outside Insomnia.

Every convenience store is a travesty. Nothing is of the standard Ignis is accustomed to. Gritty soap. Hair gel that sets their hair into stiff spikes. Safety razors that are barely sufficient to scrape stubble into submission.

Ignis grows accustomed to dull itching at his throat, lets the hair elsewhere regrow in a way he hasn't permitted for years. Sweat clings to it more persistently than Ignis had expected. He showers as often as he can, washes in streams, tries not to pay attention to the hair creeping up his navel and across his chest.

A barber gives him a good wet shave in Galdin Quay, when Ignis gives in to the temptation. It's a _revelation_. His face feels smoother than it's been since Insomnia, silken to the touch. Immediately taken with the possibility, it's not even hard to convince the barber to sell Ignis one of his straight razors, and to show him the care it needs.

Smooth-shaven cheeks. A touch of civilisation, in the wilderness.

\--

Ignis catches Noctis watching him shaving, a few times. He assumes it's curiosity, or attention drawn by the flash of light on the blade's edge. He doesn't mind, since Noctis doesn't ever distract him sufficiently to cause blood to be spilt.

At least, until he's mid-shave and a tremor shakes the caravan. Ignis's hand is steady enough to avoid cutting himself, had Noctis not collapsed to his knees at the same time.

"Noct!"

Noctis heaves in a deep breath. "I'm okay," he says. "Just... headaches, every time."

"Can you stand?"

"Yeah."

Ignis helps Noctis back up. These headaches. It must be related to Titan's movements. Divine contact.

"You're bleeding," Noctis says. He lifts a hand, touches Ignis's jaw, holds up a red-streaked finger in demonstration. "Does it hurt?"

It does sting, now Ignis is aware of it. "No."

"Let me..." and Ignis feels a pulse of warmth, like sunlight against his skin as Noctis's fingers press into his skin. "Better?"

"You should be saving your energy for other things."

"Just as well you weren't shaving your neck, huh." Noctis's hand drops down, splays out just beneath Ignis's jaw, the tips of his fingers rubbing lightly against the grain of the remaining stubble. "Wow. Like sandpaper."

"Which is why I shave." Ignis pushes Noctis's hand away, unnerved by the intimacy. He can't allow Noctis to touch him carelessly. It skates too close to old, closely-suppressed desires. "Not all of us are as lucky as you, with barely a hair below your brows."

Noctis snorts. "At least it means I'm not putting that murder weapon to my face every day."

"It's perfectly safe. Usually."

"Yeah? All the same, I'll pass, thanks."

\--

The rain seems endless. Titan has stopped shaking the land, but now Ramuh spikes the skies with lightning and howling winds.

These astrals are like needy children, Ignis thinks, squinting at his reflected face in the caravan bathroom as he soaps his jaw. Throwing tantrums to get attention. Presumably Ramuh will calm down once Noctis has earned his blessing, whatever that turns out to involve. Hopefully less violence than was required for Titan.

"You there, Specs?"

Noctis must have returned from the Crow's Nest. In case there's an emergency involved, Ignis pushes the door open, blade held fractionally away from his skin. "Yes?"

"I'm gonna make a run to the store. Anything you want?"

"Fine wines. Galadhian steak. Fabric softener. Proper hair products."

"Anything I can actually buy here?"

Ignis pouts, affecting discontent. "Ebony, then. And shaving soap."

"Got it."

Noctis returns, soaked to the bone, paper bag of shopping shoved under his t-shirt as if he'd thought that would protect it. Ignis fetches a towel, takes the sodden bag out of Noctis's grasp and empties it before it can tear open under its own weight.

It's a sorry selection; two cans of Ebony, soda, cheap toothbrushes, blade oil, deodorant and two bars of astringent soap that seems to be all these garage shops keep in stock. Ignis sighs. It's not Noctis's fault.

"Hang on," Noctis says, still rubbing his hair with the towel, one-handed. The shirt clings, and Ignis carefully does not let himself look. He rummages in his jacket pocket, and extracts a metal tin that resembles a shoe polish container. "This stuff. The shop guy didn't have shaving stuff in the cans, but he had this."

Ignis takes it, inspects the label. "Duscae dawn skin balm."

"It's an aftershave thing. Moisturiser."

Interesting. Ignis opens it, sniffs: lavender, blended with some woodsy herbal notes. It's greasy to the touch, but when he rubs some into the back of one hand it sinks in easily and leaves his skin appreciably softer. Interesting. "Thank you. I'll give it a go."

Noctis shrugs. "If it's good, I'll borrow it."

"Planning on needing to shave one of these days?"

"Pfft. Shows how much you really care about an unkempt prince. I got whiskers coming. See?"

Peering at Noctis curiously, Ignis can indeed see a sprinkling of black stubble dusting his upper lip. "My word. So you do. How unbecoming."

Noctis rubs it, pulls a woeful face. "I'd shave, but Gladio used up all the normal razors."

"There's a spare disposable in my case." Ignis gestures to the bathroom. "Remove this unseemly beardage, your Highness. I'll even let you use my balm afterwards."

"You're the best."

\--

If 'merciful' Leviathan truly slumbers below the surface of Altissia's lagoon, then her sleep is as serene as the city above. Or so it seems; Noctis mentions nothing of headaches, the water seems placid. None of the disturbance that marked Titan or Ramuh's calls.

The Leville is a delight: steaming hot baths, soft beds, firm pillows. They relax, and order a fine dinner together, on the balcony.

"So. Really, there's not gonna be a wedding?"

There's a long silence in which Noctis stares down at his plate. He's barely touched his -- in Ignis's opinion -- excellent meal, but then, Ignis can't say he has much appetite either.

"Not as things are," Gladio says, flatly. "But we knew that as soon as the Niffs broke the treaty."

"I know, I just figured--"

"But like I said before, it'd be a good idea to go through with it. If our Prince is up for the idea."

Noctis shrinks down in his seat, offering no more than an ambivalent shrug.

"Well," Ignis says, when it's evident Noctis has nothing to say, "we can worry about that _after_ everything else has been settled. For now, Lady Lunafreya seems to be safe in Accordo's protection. While we still have to be cautious, at least that is unalloyed good news."

That seems to pacify Prompto. Ignis turns the conversation towards less troublesome topics; the view, the potential for fishing, Totomostro. The evening passes, uneventful despite their collective misgivings.

Ignis catches Noctis rubbing at his jawline as he stares at himself in the mirror in the morning.

"Weird question," Noctis says. "Can you shave me?"

"Are you somehow incapable?"

"I mean, with your razor. I… figure the King of Lucis needs to look right, in meetings with foreign powers. Properly clean-shaven. Like you."

It's an odd request, but Ignis sees no reason to deny it. He fetches a bowl, a towel, soap; lets Noctis lather his own face. He pauses, opening the blade and inspecting the edge to cover his uncertainty. It should be easy enough to shave Noctis, but, well… Ignis is no barber.

And then Noctis sits on the chair in front of Ignis, still shirtless, and tips his head backwards. It exposes his throat entirely, so _trusting_ it nearly takes Ignis's breath away.

He stands behind Noctis, takes a few deep breaths to steady his hands and nerves, and begins.

\--

Without effective vision, Ignis falls back on other cues. Sounds. The sensations he feels through his cane. Temperature; it's perceptibly colder the closer one gets to the windows.

Although everywhere is glacial, approaching the corpse of Shiva. Perhaps rumours of her demise have been over-exaggerated.

"Ignis?"

Ignis turns towards where he believes the door is. "Noct."

"I wanted to say how much I--um. How sorry I am. No. Shit--" and Ignis can hear Noctis struggling to express himself precisely. "I mean. I wanted to say how glad I am you're here."

"I'm rather glad of that too."

Ignis hears the door close. Noctis sits next to him. "But I gotta say," and now there's wry amusement in Noctis's voice, "you kinda look like hell." Fingers scratch along his jawline, against the grain of the stubble. "Ignis Scientia, with a three-day beard. Never figured I'd see that."

"Thankfully, I _can't_ see it."

"Ha." The seat moves, as Noctis gets up, and then Ignis hears a click that sounds distinctly like his luggage clasp. "Sorry, Specs, where d'you keep your proper blade?"

"The leather case."

Noises follow; metal against leather, a jar being opened, the tiny corner sink being used. Noctis's knees bump into Ignis's. "Gotta fix you up. Can't have an unkempt chamberlain." Noctis's hand lands on Ignis's shoulder, then shifts up to his throat. "Please?"

"Do I look that bad?"

"...you don't look like _you_."

"Surely with my scars I scarcely resemble my former--"

"_Ignis_," and Noctis lets out this soft, breathy sigh. Ignis barely has time to consider that before Noctis is all too close, his forehead pressed to Ignis's, his hands cupping Ignis's jaw. "Ignis, please."

Ignis blinks. He can hear the hitch in Noctis's voice, can feel Noctis's breath against his face. He can't deny Noctis this. "Anything you want."

Sensation, then, the gentlest pressure of lips against Ignis's mouth, then it's gone and Ignis is left blinking in confusion. A kiss? But--

"Right," Noctis says. He sounds business-like, calmer. "Shaving."

It seems only right to give in, to allow Noctis to soap his face with gentle hands, to scrape the edge of the blade across Ignis's skin as he wishes. There are mishaps; Ignis can't help but wince each time the blade catches. Noctis traces fingers over each cut and snag and soothes it away. "There," he says, in the wake of it. "Much better."

Ignis lifts a hand to touch Noctis's. "Noct--"

Another kiss, light as a feather, over almost as soon as it begins.

"I don't understand."

"I know." And Ignis can sense Noctis moving away, can hear the sounds of things being put away. "Don't worry about it. Just… setting things right, while I can."

\--

Noctis's return was foretold. Ignis has more than prophecy to go on, has his own glimpse of the future to hold onto. It still seems endless. He has ten years of darkness and loneliness in which to consider those two fleeting kisses, to reconcile them with the fierce, angry _love_ in his own heart.

He grooms himself carefully, when the signal comes. Hair combed into what feels like a reasonably neat style. Stubble dealt with. Skin softened with Duscae dawn skin balm, from a stash Ignis had selfishly kept all to himself. Preparations for his King. Can't have an unkempt chamberlain.

It's nearly too much, to have Noctis back, to feel Noctis's hand rest heavy and meaningful on his shoulder. Ignis blinks back tears, waits until they have the privacy he needs.

No words are needed once they're alone. They embrace; Noctis's body solid and reassuring in Ignis's arms. There's no hesitancy. After they kiss, Ignis raises a trembling hand to Noctis's face, strokes the back of one finger down Noctis's cheek. There's hair on Noctis's jaw. Soft. Lightly ticklish. Unexpected.

"No razors in the Crystal," Noctis whispers. "Sorry. Blame Bahamut."

"Oh, believe me, I do."

"If you've got your razor," Noctis's hand covers Ignis's. "I know you hate--"

Ignis shakes his head.

He should hate it. It probably makes Noctis look older, emphasises the hollow cheeks Ignis felt under his fingers. It'll trap food, sweat, dirt.

All the same.

He dips his head, presses his mouth to Noctis's again. Smiles. Whispers the words, softly.

"Keep it."


End file.
